“Oh he did, mother.”

“Not recently.” She turned to me. “Gertrude would have invited the curate, but he is painfully shy and excels at excuses.”

I warmed to her. “Mrs. Dell, five is an excellent number.”

“And I am glad you speak clearly. These days, so many young women mumble.”

Benjie, the perfect host, tasted the wine, giving the nod to Raynor in that intimate way they have of communicating, more like friends than master and servant.

As Raynor poured, Benjie did his usual teasing. “You won’t be safe here, Eliot, Mrs. Dell. Kate has a tendency to produce a camera from up her sleeve when you least expect it.”

Naturally I had to respond. “Don’t pretend, Benjie. I know you love to have your picture taken.”

Eliot leaned towards me, confiding that he had a camera somewhere in the house, but couldn’t remember where.

I smiled and looked beyond him to the sideboard, which was marginally more interesting than he. Its mirror, speckled with age, reflected the flickering candlelight.

Raynor set down the wine.

Since I had taken his photograph, he seemed to have grown taller. He strode to the door and took a tray of soup from a kitchen maid, balancing it on one hand.

While placing our dishes of oxtail soup, he appeared more than usually self-contained, as if bestowing a privilege rather than providing service.

I racked my brain for some topic of conversation that would draw out Eliot Dell. He has interests in mines, shares in railway companies. It would not do, after a cocktail and a glass of wine, immediately to talk to him about railways. Because I knew from Commander Woodhead’s list that, like Benjie, Eliot had been shown the unknown man’s portrait. I might just find myself saying: why don’t you talk to me about the body?

A topic came to me. Golf. “Do you play golf, Eliot? My father does and he’s so full of the fact that the Ryder Cup will be held in Leeds, and in only its second year.”

Eliot Dell blinked, as if I had asked a trick question. “No, I don’t play golf. Never thought to take it up.”

So much for that.

With Harriet working at the cinema, I see more pictures than I otherwise would. Eliot, Benjie, Gertrude and Mrs. Dell kindly listened patiently to the plot of a film I had seen.

None of them went to the pictures.

That put me in my place. Was I losing my touch, my ability to fit in?

Horses did the trick. Gertrude and I reminisced about our ponies. Benjie and Eliot joined in.

Soup was followed by casserole of hare.

Shortly, I would bring the talk around to railways, and perhaps to crime, hoping to elicit a confidence. But first I complimented Benjie on his cars. He always seems to have a new one.

Eliot said solemnly, “There is too much traffic these days.”

I glanced at Gertrude. She was gazing at Eliot as if his every syllable on the subject of heavy traffic was a word to be treasured.